


A Wonderful Spectacular Idea

by earlgreytea68



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9341216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68
Summary: Here's what was skipped at the beginning of "The Final Problem." It's important.





	

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS FOR THE FINAL PROBLEM.

John Watson, upon waking up on the floor of his therapist’s office, spent a little while looking up at the ceiling, and thought, _My therapist is Sherlock Holmes’s long-lost unknown sister who just shot me with a tranquilizer gun._

And then thought, _Should have seen that coming, frankly. Seems about right for my life._

John probably should have figured it out from the bloody carcass rug. 

***

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, plucking at his violin, when John walked in. 

Sherlock said absently, “I thought you’d be home with Rosie.” 

“What?” said John blankly, because what was Sherlock even talking about? “We have more important things to discuss.” 

Sherlock glanced up at him, and then knitted his eyebrows together. “Have you been shot by a tranquilizer gun?” 

“Yes. By your _sister_.”

“Who?” asked Sherlock. 

“Oh, sorry, my therapist.”

“Oh. Your therapist. Well, you found her very quickly and with very little vetting, what did you expect?” Sherlock waved his hand negligently and went back to his violin.

“No, wait, did I say ‘therapist’? I meant ‘your sister.’”

“John, you’re making even less sense than usual. It’s probably the effect of your therapist’s tranquilizer gun.”

“No, no, actually, what I really mean to say is that my therapist _is_ your sister.” 

There was a long moment of silence. John thought he looked properly angry enough for Sherlock to take him seriously now, because Sherlock had now set aside his violin. 

“What?” said Sherlock finally. “What do you mean?”

“Do you have a sister?” John snapped out. 

“No,” Sherlock retorted. “I do not have a sister.”

“Are you sure? Because she seemed pretty certain.” 

“Your therapist seemed pretty certain she was my _sister_ , and you’re questioning _me_ about this?” Sherlock lifted his eyebrows. 

John laughed, because what else could he do? “What do you want me to say? This doesn’t exactly seem unlikely to me, Sherlock. When have I ever been able to trust anything that you say?” 

“I do not have a sister!” Sherlock exclaimed. And then paused. “Unless.”

“Mycroft,” said John grimly, and turned around to march to the door. 

“Where are you going?” asked Sherlock. 

“To ask Mycroft if he’s been bloody lying to you about having a bloody sister who just shot me,” John bit out. 

“I love that you think you can ask Mycroft a question and get the truth,” scoffed Sherlock. 

“Well, what do you suggest?” demanded John impatiently. 

Sherlock smiled suddenly. “I have always had this wonderful spectacular idea.” 

“Oh, no,” said John, stomach sinking with dread. “What idea?” 

“It involves creepy doll mannequins.” 

“…What?”

Sherlock stood and swung his coat on, looking thrilled to death. “And _clowns_!”


End file.
